


pour mercy, mercy on me

by lucio



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Angry Jim Halpert, Infidelity, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ryan is a little Shit, Smut, who takes it out on ryan of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucio/pseuds/lucio
Summary: 6x11."I will, uh, I will do my work right now," says Ryan, in a tone that would sound calm to anyone else but to Jim, who has listened to that insufferable voice for more years than he cares to count, it just sounds achingly, deliciously desperate. "I will...stay late tonight. I'll do anything.""Anything?" Jim repeats, one corner of his mouth hooking up in a smile.Ryan swallows. His blue eyes are so wide. Jim would stop staring but he just can't help himself. Ryan nods, once, a sharp incline of his head. "Anything."
Relationships: Jim Halpert/Ryan Howard
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	pour mercy, mercy on me

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally never written smut before but this idea sat me down in the middle of 6x11 and wouldn't let go, so... I hope you enjoy!

Jim has about fucking _had_ it lately. First Michael won't stop playing murder games and trying to micro-co-manage the hell out of him. Then there's Pam—and, yeah, Jim knows it's a stupid thing to be mad about, but it's getting under his skin that she didn't even bother to ask how much power he actually has, that she just decided to mind her own business in the face of the rumours Ryan, in his infinite wisdom, decided to spread about him. 

And, yeah, that's the third thing. Ryan, who's recently decided to reinvent himself for the third or fourth time (Jim's not keeping track); Ryan, who somehow thinks he can get away with being a dick to his co-manager; Ryan, who will not shut his cocksure mouth and refuses to take Jim seriously at all. 

Fine. If he wants a lesson, Jim will give him one to remember. 

Because he finally has Ryan right where he wants him—everyone in the office, Kelly included, watching the smirk get wiped off that face. Watching Ryan say whatever comes to mind, anything he can think of that might spare him this public embarrassment.

Some part of Jim that's felt trapped and cornered and disliked ever since his promotion enjoys the panic in Ryan's eyes. 

"I will, uh, I will do my work right now," he's saying, in a tone that would sound calm to anyone else but to Jim, who has listened to that insufferable voice for more years than he cares to count, it just sounds achingly, deliciously desperate. "I will...stay late tonight. I'll do anything."

What a promise. "Anything?" Jim repeats, one corner of his mouth hooking up in a smile. 

Ryan swallows. His blue eyes are so wide. Jim would stop staring but he can't help himself. Ryan nods, once, a sharp incline of his head. "Anything."

"Right," says Jim. "Change of plans, everyone. Ryan and I are going to _discuss_ his recent behaviour"—Jim pats him on the back condescendingly, hand lingering between Ryan's shoulders—"and then we'll think about suitable consequences." 

He keeps his voice pleasant, his expression neutral. It's only too easy to play the funny, unperturbed coworker he's been for the past few years. Ryan is the only one who can feel how hard Jim's pressing, and when Jim shoves a little harder, Ryan half-stumbles into the tiny closet space. "Jim, what the fuck?" Ryan says under his breath. 

"Don't talk back to me," says Jim evenly, flashing the waiting crowd another bland smile as he shuts the door behind them. 

On the other side, he's pretty sure he can hear Kevin say, "Ryan is _so_ gonna get fired."

Jim somehow doesn't feel like getting fired is punishment enough. Anger is rolling steady underneath his skin, flames of irritation sparking up every time he catches sight of the arrogant bow of Ryan's mouth. Who died and made this temp king? Who got demoted and made Ryan co-manager of Dunder fucking Mifflin? 

Who breezed past Jim to the top of the ladder he hadn't even known Ryan wanted to climb, only to lose it all, lose the _company_ more than Jim could even imagine, because he'd never learned how to be fucking satisfied with what he had?

Ryan's just staring at him. It's so dark. They're standing so close, too close; Jim can taste coffee on his breath. "This your idea of punishing me?" he says, low into the silence. "I guess Michael didn't teach you much. Or maybe you just weren't paying attention."

The fire roars impatiently in his chest, an inferno of frustration and anger that shreds any lingering self-control Jim might've deluded himself into holding onto. "Believe me," he says, "I've been paying attention." He dips his head, drops his voice a little: "I was paying attention the first time I saw you. The first time Michael looked at you like you were good enough to eat."

"Please can we not talk about Michael," Ryan mutters, guarded eyes lifting to meet Jim's. He doesn't move away. He doesn't even seem to be breathing. 

"Why not?" Jim asks. He's beginning to kind of enjoy this. "You don't have fond memories of the days when Michael would _not_ stop calling you? When you were basically his personal slave? When you were the receptionist, and me and Michael took turns staring at you—"

He thinks _receptionist_ and then he thinks _Pam_ , and a flicker of guilt nearly, nearly, douses whatever impossible anger is fuelling this whatever-it-is; but then Ryan snarls, "Shut up," and Jim's seen him cut off arguments with Kelly this way a million times, but he's still unprepared for Ryan to lunge forward and close the gap between them.

And Jim has one second of rational thought to think, goddamn the consequences and damn them all to hell; Pam's somewhere out there and Ryan's right here, and he's not even asking, he's just _taking._ One of his hands finds its way into Jim's hair and Jim's utterly lost, completely gone, backing Ryan up the couple steps it takes to pin him up against the door. 

"Please," Ryan says, or might try to say, and Jim finally pulls back.

"Are you always this desperate?" he murmurs, a tiny hitch of a laugh escaping him when he leans back and Ryan leans forward to chase his lips. "Does Kelly do this to you, too?"

"Please can we not talk about _Kelly_ ," Ryan all but groans. "Fuck, Jim, _please_."

The fire is nowhere near banked. Jim's burning up alive; he _feels_ alive for the first time in a long time. "Interesting word choice," Jim says playfully, trying to sound like they're just standing in the break room for anyone to find, like the tip of Ryan's nose isn't already a weirdly adorable shade of red. "See, I don't really think this counts as punishment so far. In fact, I sort of think you're enjoying it." 

"So are you," says Ryan, emboldened, and Jim presses his advantage, moves half an inch closer so Ryan knows _exactly_ how much Jim is enjoying this. 

"Yeah, but I'm co-manager, so I'm allowed." Jim kisses him hard enough to bruise, one of Ryan's hands going up to cradle the side of his neck and staying there even when Jim pulls back. "Hand," he says, warningly, and after a moment of hesitation Ryan drops it. Some increasingly feral part of Jim enjoys that, too. "You ready, Howard?"

"Just say the word," Ryan breathes. 

Jim doesn't say anything. He just drops both his hands, undoes his belt buckle, and tugs down his boxers with a couple sharp motions. Ryan's eyes never leave his face. "I wonder," says Jim, trying again for that light, conversational tone and failing worse than the last time. "Wonder just how much you meant it when you said 'anything'."

He can see the calculations happening behind those implacable blue eyes, turned near-black in the darkness. "You're serious."

It's not a question, but Jim answers it with one: "Why don't you find out?" 

Ryan takes a quick, sharp breath, like he's about to holler for Michael or something, and Jim feels a flash of something that might even be fear before the temp of Dunder Mifflin, once its youngest vice president ever, the man who has singlehandedly tried Jim's patience more than anyone else on the entire _continent_ , drops to his knees and wraps his lips around Jim's half-hard cock. 

"Oh, my god," Jim says on an exhale, and then, " _Ryan_ ," remembering too late to keep his voice down because Ryan's just done something with his tongue that Jim really, really wants him to do again. "Where did you even—"

There's an obscene, quiet _pop_ as Ryan's lips part. "New York's a pretty crazy place, man," he says, a glint in his eye that says he knows exactly how much the power imbalance has shifted, because Jim can't actually remember the last time he had a blowjob and his vague attempts to remember are blown apart when Ryan's eyes flutter half-shut again and Jim gives up on doing anything but tangling one hand in Ryan's hair and trying to keep his mouth shut. 

As soon as he touches his hair Ryan shifts noticeably under his hand, like he doesn't really want Jim to be doing that, which, of course, just makes Jim twist his hair harder. 

It's definitely not _anything_ like being with Pam. 

How long they're there for, Jim couldn't tell you. All he knows is eventually he feels the coiling fire kick up a notch in his belly, and he lets out another half-gasp he might be a little embarrassed of if he'd had the presence of mind to notice it. "Ryan, I—"

Ryan pauses, looks up at him through lashes that should not be legal, and just keeps going. 

Jim hisses out another strangled breath, gripping Ryan's hair tight enough to hurt as he comes. Ryan barely even blinks as he swallows. Jim groans low in his throat; takes a semi-step backwards, enough to leave damning evidence glistening on Ryan's chin. Some of the howling _need_ in Jim's chest lets up at the sight. 

Ryan stares up at him for a heartbeat longer, expression unreadable, before Jim puts out a hand to help him up, which Ryan takes. They're near enough to the same height that Jim can see every shade in Ryan's eyes. "Hm," says Jim, breaking the silence. "What do you think? You've been punished enough for one day?"

"Oh, yeah, for sure," says Ryan. Jim turns around and snatches a box of tissues from the unused desk; Ryan takes a handful, never breaking eye contact, and cleans himself up while Jim pulls his pants back up, feeling a tiny bit ridiculous as he does so. "I think I get your point."

"Reiterate it for me?" Jim leans in to bite almost playfully at the side of Ryan's neck. "Just so I know you got it."

Ryan tilts his head a fraction to give him easier access. "Hmm." The sound vibrates under Jim's mouth. "Maybe that Jim Halpert is a pretty unreasonable manager until you suck his dick?"

"You know what," says Jim, pulling back, "I think I've learned something too. Ryan Howard is an asshole unless he's sucking your dick. Then he's not so hard to deal with."

"That's what he said," Ryan retorts.

Jim actually laughs as he tosses the tissue box over his shoulder. "You got me there, Howard." 

He has one hand on the doorknob when Ryan says, too casually, "So that was a one-time sort of deal?"

Jim pauses. Turns to look over his shoulder. Ryan's face is a case study in neutrality, but he has his left eyebrow raised—and Jim cannot _believe_ that he knows this—in the way he gets when he thinks he's asked a particularly good question, or made a particularly smart point. It’s one of the most insufferable things Jim's ever seen.

A reluctant grin sneaks onto Jim's face anyway. "Figure it out and let me know," he says. "Also, you might wanna fix your hair." With that, Jim opens the closet door, runs a hand through his hair to try and make him seem a _little_ bit presentable, and walks back to his office. 

-

"You look super happy about something," Kelly observes while Ryan’s setting his computer down onto his desk with a satisfied sigh. (Jim, in a vaguely flattering way, had been so blissfully out of it that he’d completely forgotten to make Ryan stay in the closet.) "What did Jim _say_ to you?” Kelly demands. “Wait, wait, wait. Did he fire you?”

Ryan spots someone from the documentary crew hovering nearby and gives their camera a nice, significant eyebrow raise that Kelly can't see. "We just talked," he says, easily, sliding into his chair. "And I'm pretty sure I'm not fired." 


End file.
